525,600 Minutes
by ReadWriteFangirl
Summary: Prompted or inspired drabbles following our favourite aca-couples (yes, plural). More often than not too short to stand alone.
1. What Makes A Lawn - Mitchsen

_**Author's Note: Over this summer, I really feel like I could begin a load of one shots for many ships: Mitchsen, Bechloe, Chacie, Triple Treble - I'll even be adding my old one shots and unfinished test chapters into this.**_

 _ **So this is not just Mitchsen, and you can sumbit your prompts through my ask on my tumblr: Readwritefangirl [insert normal tumblr ending].**_

* * *

 _ **What Makes A Lawn**_

 _Mitchsen_

 **Imagine your OTP** **as a married couple who take horrible care of their lawn despite living in very nice part of town and all the neighbours despise them for it.**

* * *

Gardening was not their _'thing'_. Beca's _thing_ was music and Aubrey's _thing_ was making sure Beca didn't die, it worked like clockwork. However, many of their neighbour's _things_ were making sure their Beverly Hills lawn was perfect - something Aubrey and Beca couldn't care less about, especially since letting Beca loose with a lawnmower would inevitably end with the brunette riding it like a mechanical bull and falling off. And Aubrey's _thing_ was making sure Beca didn't die, so their lawn grew, and grew, the hot weather then turning it into a brown mess.

So, they removed their front lawn and turned it into a large driveway - perfect for their two cars.

Even then the couple knew that they wanted children in their lives, so when Drew turned up, they tried to ignore their brown mess of a lawn and focussed on making sure their child turned out a nice balance between boring and Fat Amy. For years, their lawn was maintained by Beca's mom when she came down from Portland and both Aubrey's parents when they visited from South Carolina for birthdays, Christmas and Thanksgiving.

* * *

"Why don't you ladies look after your lawn?"

"Because, mom, Beca's hobby is music and my hobby is making sure she doesn't die." Aubrey sighed and sipped at her glass of wine, they'd had to endure that conversation many times.

"You could just pay a landscaper to sort it out, I'm sure-"

"We appreciate your help, Mrs. Posen, but our lawn is doing just fine." Beca had gritted out.

The older woman scoffed, her disapproving glare moving to the mess that stood only inches away from the patio table. "If you say so."

* * *

Just as soon as Drew was reaching two years old, Beca's career as a singer/songwriter blew up, resulting on the brunette dragging her wife and their son all the way to Europe for her breakout tour, the three months leaving the lawn to die and give up. As the grass sweltered in the heat, their next door neighbours were staring at the mess from their master bedroom and swearing to make them do something about it - except Aubrey was a _**really**_ scary lawyer, and they didn't want to cross her, _**ever**_ (much like the rest of the country).

"Your lawn is looking… nice." Chloe said, her blue eyes moving between her two best friends before reverting back to their original position, looking at her steak. The redhead was visiting the pair as part of her Bella road trip - she travelled to every state in order to catch up with every one of their Bellas - and due to the heat, they were sitting outside to eat their dinner (which meant extra attention was said to their lawn).

Aubrey sighed, putting her fork down, "just say it, Chloe, our lawn looks like someone shit all over it."

Beca placed her hand atop her wife's, "we're genuinely just doing it to piss off our neighbours now, Mr. and Mrs. Stuck-Up-Republican next door absolutely hate it, and us, so y'know, we aren't maintaining it." She sent a reassuring squeeze to the blonde's hand, "we're making a point, hating our lawn and hating gay marriage are the same concept, they can't do anything about it and it isn't any of their business."

"Plus, if I let Beca have a ride-on lawnmower she'd fall off, and I had to sign a contract saying this klutz wouldn't die under my supervision." Beca shook her head at her wife's words, she wasn't _that_ clumsy…

* * *

" _Beca, are you sure you're okay cutting the opinions without me?" Beca had then hid her bleeding hand from her wife._

" _Yeah Bree, everything's fine, absolutely fine." She turned around and grabbed a load of kitchen towel, attempting to hide the blood that was pouring from just below her wedding ring. "Shit…"_

" _Baby are you sure that you're alright? It sounds like you're in pain or something similar… Do you need any help?" The distinct sound of Aubrey's favourite pair of heels echoed towards Beca as her very stunning wife's head poked around the door frame. "Sure?"_

 _Beca nodded once as she shoved her hand behind her, "I'm one hundred percent sure baby, I promise. You can go back to spending my money on bras." Aubrey huffed before making her way to the living room, Beca celebrating that she had managed to fend off 'the beast'._

* * *

"Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you! Happy birthday to Drew, happy birthday to you!" Aubrey found herself being pulled away from the table of five year olds and towards their house, her kidnapper, Mrs. Stuck-Up-Republican-Housewife, stopped by the kitchen island and folded her arms.

"Can I help you?" Aubrey mimicked the woman's posture, using the height she gained from her higher heels to look down on the woman, "I am trying to celebrate my son's birthday."

"And I, Ms. Posen, am trying to sell my house - but everyone is put off by your lawn."

"My _**lawn**_ _or my so-called_ _ **lifestyle**_ _?_ " Aubrey took a step towards the woman, her normally kind emerald eyes illuminated with hatred and disgust. "Because I assure you, if you make one more homophobic comment or refuse to address me as Mrs. Mitchell I will take you to court."

"Have fun trying to make a case."

"I make the rules nowadays." She wasn't lying, her status had managed to propel the blonde to the House of the Senate, even though she only wanted to punch the stupid housewife in the face. "So I'd like to tell you that my lawn is absolutely none of your business, and I can't wait until you and your excuse of a husband move out and my best friends move in, because I assure you, _**they don't give a fuck about my lawn or my 'lifestyle'**_ _."_ Aubrey normally refrained from swearing, especially when a five year old could overhear, but she had finally cracked.

* * *

 _ **Homophobic Neighbours: nil.**_

 _ **Aubrey fuckin' Mitchell: one.**_


	2. Blood Runs Cold - Beca Centric

_**Author's Note: This is an unfinished fic/test chapter that I thought you'd enjoy. Based upon Taylor Swift's Bad Blood.**_

* * *

 _ **'Cause, baby, now we got bad blood**_

 _ **You know it used to be mad love**_

 _ **So take a look what you've done**_

 _ **'Cause, baby, now we got bad blood**_

 _ **Now we got problems**_

 _ **And I don't think we can solve them**_

 _ **You made a really deep cut**_

 _ **And, baby, now we got bad blood**_

* * *

" _You've got talent, call me."_

Everyone in Los Angeles knew what happened if you were scouted at a gym, a boxing club, and simply work. Everyone also knew _who_ and _what_ Gail Abernathy-McKadden was. People were beginning to train their children, purely so they could be scouted by the ex-professional boxer.

" _I will make sure your family stay safe."_

False promises, some people called them. Simply syllables that dissipate and leave behind a sweet scent; unless you fell for them. As the stories went, Gail changes people, not necessarily for the better. She takes them and she gives them a persona, a new identity.

" _I hope your punch is not particularly good purely because you're acting on liquid courage."_

It didn't matter who **you** were. If you could throw a punch, and hold your own… Gail wanted you. The rich and powerful would boast if their children had been enlisted by the veteran fighter - America had accepted that there were people out there who would defend and fight for what they believed in. Even the President of the United State's daughter had been seen as worthy, at the tender age of 19.

" _Call me, or they will call on you."_

The man boasted that fact; his daughter was _**worthy**_ , he was proud of her. Whenever he got the chance, he would thank the woman who had turned his 'failure' of a daughter into the most amazing 23-year-old he had ever met.

" _I hope you make the right decision."_

It always went like that, a story of them simply packing up and moving, taking on their new lives as if it were nothing. They were still allowed to visit their families, let them know that their new lives were going as promised. As of _Knockout_ joining Gail's organisation, the total went up to 10.

" _You would be a great addition, Mitchell."_

* * *

Everyone saw them on the news, they knew who they were. But no one outside the organisation had any idea of what was carried out in the top secret, high security, building. If you asked anyone, they'd be able to name the nine women easily.

" **First, there's obviously Catastrophe, the President's daughter, and Gail's clear favourite."**

" **Crimson Fury, with the crimson hair."**

" **Homeslice, that 17 year old."**

" **Dilema, is she one? I'm not really sure, she doesn't do much."**

" **Domino, with the motorcycles."**

" **The Trinity, apparently she's a trained Korean spy."**

" **Cutthroat, with the massive hair."**

" **Frostbite, the tall brunette."**

" **Mother Clucker, the Australian."**

' _Seven more found dead after unexplained explosion in San Francisco.'_

"Jesus christ." The small brunette readjusted her sunglasses, the sun glaring right into her path of vision. The headline at the top of her phone was explaining _**exactly**_ what kind of a world she was venturing into - a dangerous one. "What the fuck are you doing Beca?" Her question was left unanswered as the DJ reached the door of the gym she regularly worked out at.

' _A statement from the police department says, "we cannot pursue this case, there is no evidence left on the crime scene at all." we think there's more to this story than they're letting on.'_

The brunette's eyes moved from the screen of her phone when a car pulled up. The windows were tinted, but Beca matched the number plate to the one in a picture Gail had text her. Now or never, right? Beca opened the rear door and slid onto the back seat of the Mercedes, recognising the woman driving as Catastrophe, Gail's supposed favourite out of all nine of the trained women.

"Where are we going?" Beca leant forward so that her head was just behind the blonde's seat. "Is this car yours?"

"Shut up." Catastrophe's voice was hard, one you certainly didn't want to mess with. "You will find out as soon as we reach our destination."

Beca's eyes rolled to the back of her skull, "that's a bit hyperbolic of you."

"Shut up DJ, you may have millions of Twitter followers, but that isn't getting you anywhere once you're with us." Catastrophe shifted the car into second gear and began their journey towards wherever their destination was. Beca didn't know, neither did most of America, but she was intrigued to see what life was really like within one of the most well-respected organisations in the country. "You're new meat, and I could kill you right now if I wanted to."

The blonde pressed a button, causing the windows to become several shades darker than they were before, completely obstructing Beca's view of the city that they passed.

"Dude! I want to actually see the route." Beca looked over the outfit Catastrophe was wearing, a black all-in-one that hugged her curves perfectly, her small waist being accentuated even more. Her knee-high boots were heeled and black, hugging her calfs and making those, too, look magnificent. "Don't you dare say that isn't allowed."

"That isn't allowed." Catastrophe ran a hand down her long ponytail, pulling the blonde locks so they rest against her right shoulder. "I've done this nine times now, and you have got to be the most annoying person I've met yet."

"You're the very first?"

"Yes. But you won't be the very first person I've ever strangled, that's for sure."

"That's cold, man."

Catastrophe scoffed, "you haven't met cold until you've met Frostbite."

"Sounds hot."

"Shut up before I have to taser you."

Beca smirked, catching the blonde's eyes in the rear view mirror, "now that is _**fucking**_ hot."


End file.
